


Sound The Drums

by Archer973



Series: Build The Castle On Our Passions [6]
Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2020-06-29 17:18:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19834936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Archer973/pseuds/Archer973
Summary: Peace can be found on the road, but once embroiled in the history and power plays of reality, all the happiness that was found is suddenly very easy to lose.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So fair warning, this is a lot of plot and not as much romance, but I promise this is setting up for one of the scenes I am most looking forward to writing.

**Chapter One**

The new safehouse at least had more space than the ones before it, for which Charlie was grateful. She wouldn't have been super enthused about trying to fit herself, Bass, Miles, her mother, Connor, her grandfather, _and_ the mercs all into the abandoned barn's basement. She smiled slightly, dipping the rag she was holding back into the bucket and running it across her knife once more, cleaning away more of the travel dirt and blood. Mack and the guys were set up not far from her, far enough not to be obtrusive, but close enough to be at her side in an instant if she raised her voice.

Gravel crunched behind her and Charlie smiled, though she didn't look up from her knife when Miles dropped on the rock beside her. He sat there for a moment in silence, watching her, and she continued with her task, scrubbing at a particularly stubborn speck of blood up near the hilt while she waited for Miles to speak.

“So... what the hell happened in New Vegas?”

Charlie had been expecting the question, and so answered it with minimal fuss, giving him a short, quick rundown of the events that had occurred in those three days they were there, from running into Gould to the dogfight to Duncan giving them her mercs. She left out certain details, like the skimpy nightdress and kissing Connor. Bass' reaction to her kissing Connor was also definitely omitted. As was their... _encounter_ on the way back, though that technically didn't happen in New Vegas, so it did not fall under the realm of Miles' question.

When she stopped speaking, Miles didn't say anything for a moment, just sat there staring at Charlie. Charlie looked back, her eyebrows raised. Finally Miles sighed, letting his head drop and shaking it slightly, bemused.

“I guess that bastard owes you his life now.” Charlie snorted, a small smile quirking her lips.

“Honestly at this point we've stopped keeping track,” she admitted, turning her knife to see whether there were any hidden stains still lingering on the shimmering metal. “He saves me, I save him, he saves me again... it was getting tedious trying to keep it all straight.”

Satisfied with her blade, she twisted and slid it back home into its sheath, then turned and looked at Miles once more. He was looking at her with surprise and for a moment Charlie worried that she had said something... revealing. But it was true. She and Bass were so far down the spiral of saved lives that at this point it wasn't owing, but second nature.

“You know he wants to start the Republic again, right?” Miles asked suddenly, his voice clipped and rough, admitting an unpleasant truth while trying also not to admit that it hurt him.

“I know,” Charlie replied, voice even. And she did. It had been obvious from the very moment Bass had gotten back from Mexico. She had seen the wounds he had let Connor carve into his back, had heard Miles saying how he sacrificed himself to save Connor from the cartel's ire. The overheard whispers between Bass and his son had only confirmed what she had already known.

“That doesn't... bother you?” Miles' voice was starting to edge towards the annoyed and Charlie had to smile. She knew her uncle in ways that had nothing to do with family and everything to do with putting life and blood on the line beside each other every day, and she knew the annoyance was only there to cover his concern, his worry about Bass leaving, and that dark, secret part of him that knew how desperately he would want to go with him.

“He'll never get it back.”

Miles look at her, surprised. “How are you so sure?”

“Because he doesn't want it,” Charlie replied, looking at Miles, her blue eyes calm and steady. “Not really. He had _six months_ to try, before the Patriots ever showed up, before they started saying he had dropped the bombs. You know him, Miles, better than any of us. He could have used all that grief and anger over the bombing and pulled together an army just like he had before. But he didn't. He burned off his tattoo and crawled into New Vegas to die. The only reason he wants the Republic back now is for his son. He asked Connor to kill him, in that dogfight. Does that sound like the President of the Monroe Republic to you?” Miles was silent for a moment, then shook his head, looking thoughtful.

“But that doesn't mean I don't think he'll try, and probably screw us over in the process,” Charlie continued. Miles laughed shortly, though there was little humor to it.

“Yeah, probably,” he agreed, resting his hand on the hilt of his sword in an idle, tired gesture. “But until then, we'll take all the help we can get. No offense to Charlie's Angels over there, but we could have used three times as many.” Charlie groaned.

“God, sometimes it's like a mirror with you two,” she complained, glaring at Miles, though there was the edge of a smile tucked away in the corner of her lips. “He said the _exact_ same thing.”

“Did he?” Miles asked, glancing at Charlie and for once not trying to hide the small flicker of a smile that his closeness with Bass always brought to his face.

“Yes! Almost down to the word!” Charlie told him and Miles snorted, shaking his head ruefully. “And what the hell is a Charlie Angel?”

“Charlie's Angels,” Miles corrected, laughing. “It was a movie. Three sexy female spies that worked for this guy called Charlie and kicked ass in spandex and heels.”

“Why were they wearing heels?” Charlie asked, confused. “You can't fight in those things, it's not practical.”

“Neither was the amount of cleavage they showed, but 'practical' wasn't really the point of the movies,” Miles replied, shrugging.

“So they were porn?”

“What? No! They were – you know what, just forget it.” Charlie grinned as Miles glowered at her, leaning over and bumping his shoulder with hers affectionately. Rarely did she and Miles express their affection for each other in ways others would grasp, but they didn't need to. They both knew, and Miles allowed himself a brief moment of softness, wrapping his arm around Charlie's shoulders and hugging her to him, one hand on the side of her head as he pulled her into him.

“You did good, kid. And thanks for saving him.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

“You need a leader with experience.”

Oh how Bass looked at her as he said those words, blue eyes heavy with heady spike of power and the heat that Charlie knew came from the memory of the forest, the memory of his fingers inside her as she trembled around him. It seemed a lifetime ago, that sunlit day where all that mattered was them and the desires thrumming between them.

But that was the road. That was them away from all of the history and tension and black, swirling anger of camp. Charlie had felt the difference on their very first journey together, riding atop the bounty hunter's wagon. Away from her mother, away from Miles, away from people and their expectations and preconceived notions and patterns, she and Bass had first begun to make their peace with each other. And on the road once more from New Vegas, she had allowed herself to forget, to slip in to a wonderful life where she was free. Free to do what she wanted, free to stretch her strength, free from all of the history that weighed around her and Bass' necks like anchors, dragging them down into anger and mistrust and the sickness that Charlie could see stirring in his eyes as he looked at the war clan fate had so kindly dropped into his lap.

The beginnings of an army.

Charlie held by what she had said to Miles earlier that day. She didn't believe that Bass truly wanted the Republic back. But then he and Miles had captured those kids, and all of the venom and hatred between Bass and her mother had found a way to bubble to the surface, spewing from old wounds and burning everyone around them save for Bass and Rachel themselves, who reveled in the chance to spill their rage forth onto the other.

Miles had left not long after, and Charlie couldn't blame him, though she wanted to scream at him for his cowardice. How desperately she herself wanted to run, to flee all the dark shadows spiraling across their family.

Those same shadows were caressing Bass now, the flames of the burning wagon sending them dancing across his skin. Charlie watched him as he addressed the simpering leader of the war clan. He was beautiful, standing tall and straight with his shoulders thrown back and his hand lovingly caressing the hilt of his sword. The edges of him were not softened by the darkness but rather thrown into sharp relief, a being of shadow and power standing before his mortal soldiers and telling them of the blood they would spill.

A fist of pain seized Charlie's heart, sharp and sudden. This was the beginning of the end. She could see it in Bass' gloating pleasure at her mother's anger, could see it in the way he wrapped the power around himself as he would a lover, stroking it as it settled into his skin. Soon he would be gone, driven from them by that power. He could not stay when Miles seemed so weak, could not stay and watch Rachel run her hands over the man he had called his brother for decades. As always he would mistake power for companionship, and that would rip him from them just as it had ripped him from Miles all those years ago.

She didn't want him to leave.

The realization was not one that surprised her, though it should have. Charlie had always known that Bass would never stay, no matter what he said, and she had made her peace with that. But now... the tight fist in her chest seized once more and Charlie had to turn away, for she could not bear the sight of General Monroe any longer.

It had been stupid, to let herself hope. When was the last time hope had done anything but break her heart? Everyone she cared about left. Her father. Her mother. Maggie. Danny. Nora. Aaron. Miles was the only one who had stayed, but sometimes she felt like he was farther away then when she had known his name and nothing more. Charlie missed the closeness they had once shared, before Miles had wrapped himself so tightly around her mother that the tangle of them left no room for Charlie in his thoughts. She had gotten a taste of their old camaraderie earlier, when he had sat down beside her and asked about New Vegas, but the moments were getting fewer and farther between.

The pit of loneliness that she fought so hard to ignore yawned open inside her, snatching at her heart. Agony mixed with anger as Charlie berated herself for her weakness. She should not need Miles. She should not need anyone. And most of all, she should not need Bass.

“Boss?” Charlie jerked her head up, her self-loathing having blinded her to her surroundings. Mack was standing there, the other four mercs Duncan had given her spread behind him in a loose arch. “Monroe's planning to hit the training camp. Are we going?”

“We?” Charlie asked, not understanding. She had watched the five mercs greet their clansmen gleefully and felt the sinking knowledge of loss. Duncan may have given them to her, but Duncan was dead and Sebastian Monroe was standing there in all his glory, calling for blood and death.

“The Angels,” Mack replied, jerking his head back to include the other men in his assertion. Charlie looked at him for a moment, then groaned, a helpless laugh bubbling up in her throat.

“Seriously, you too?” she demanded, and for a moment Mack allowed his warrior's exterior to break, showing her humor in his eyes.

“Hey, I loved those movies,” he replied, shrugging his massive shoulders. Then his face sobered and he looked at Charlie with dark, serious eyes. “We're still yours, Charlie. Duncan gave us to _you_ , not Monroe. We'll follow your lead.”

Charlie looked at the man and for a moment couldn't speak. Then she asked the question that had been haunting her ever since they had left New Vegas.

“Why?”

“Because you're strong. Because you don't let feelings get in the way. Because you're not going to get us killed for your pride. And because Duncan saw something in you.” Mack listed the reasons as if listing off inventory, but his eyes held the weight of his words.

Charlie looked at him and was overwhelmed by the loyalty of the men standing in front of her. For a moment, she just let herself look at them, these men that had attached themselves so readily to her leadership. There was Mack, strong and solid and determined, the voice of them and someone Charlie suddenly realized she trusted with her life. Bear, with his wild grey hair and scarred face, who could tell you the name of every flower, tree, and bush along the road. Jones, who had a head on Mack and yet moved through the woods as silently as a mouse. Carson, Bear's constant shadow who glared about him in threatening silence, but who Charlie had seen lift a stranded butterfly from the ground during a rainstorm, setting the delicate creature on a branch out of harms way until its wings could dry. Speck was the youngest, despite the fact he had Charlie by about a decade, and though his hands were large and rough, Charlie had seen him carving a piece of wood no bigger than her finger one night by the fire. Together they were her men.

Her Angels.

Taking a deep breath, Charlie forced herself to think about Mack's question. Should they march with the rest of the war clan to purge the training camp? Charlie could hear her mother's ragings about how they were just children, but she could also see the hundreds of men whose lives her own knife had ended. Being young didn't mean you weren't a killer. Charlie knew that better than anyone, and where she had been forced into it by Danny's capture, these kids had fallen prey to the Patriot's sick, twisted agenda, which made them even more dangerous. Charlie knew they needed to be dealt with, and she knew Miles knew it too. He may have been trying to make amends for his past, but Charlie had no such qualms. This was a world of war and blood, and the only way to exist in was to stand strong against those who would kill you, no matter how great their numbers or how hard the sacrifice.

Squaring her shoulders, Charlie looked at her Angels. “Yeah, we're going. Can't let those idiots get killed without us.”

Carson let out a low rumble of approval and the others took it up, a deep growl that Charlie felt more than heard. The steel in her spine hardened and settled and she felt a strange kind of peace as she turned and moved back towards the milling war clan, though not towards Bass himself, who was far more concerned with his army and shadows than with her.

But it didn't matter. Nothing mattered. This was their world. They were all going to die fighting the Patriots, so all they could do was stand tall and fight until that end came. The past was gone and the future was bloody, so Charlie rested her hand on her knife and walked into the dark with her Angels at her back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the lack of actual Bass/Charlie interaction, but I promise, it is coming! The next part will be Bass and Charlie speaking after the training camp, and more specifically after Rachel has talked to Charlie about it (fair warning, I am just about as far from a Rachel fan as you can get, so that will show up in the next chapter, seeing as I despised how she treated Charlie after the training camp.) I hope you guys enjoyed, and I should have the next one up soon. Cheers!


End file.
